


Triage

by Decepticonsensual



Series: He Jests at Scars [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet lays down some truth while performing repairs on Drift after a battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triage

**Author's Note:**

> Very slight descriptions of blood/injuries; based on a request on Tumblr with the prompt, "You're bleeding."

“There, the weld scar should start to disappear in two weeks; come back for a checkup then, or earlier if you see any discolouration in the paint around the edges.”  Ratchet set the welder down and leaned back, exhaustion etched into every line of his posture.  “Meantime, clean it with a nanite wash every other day, and in the interests of your general health, it would be good if you could _stop getting stabbed so damned much.”_

Drift grinned and flexed his shoulder.  “Your repairs are always so precise.  I can’t even feel it anymore.”

“Cut the flattery, kid, and at least _try_ to listen for once in your damned life.”

“I don’t get wounded on purpose -”

“ _Don’t_ you?”  The question was so sharp it made Drift stare.  “You and your hero complex and your little contests with Rodimus over who can take out more Decepticons, and the number of times you let Perceptor use you as sniper bait - are you seriously going to tell me you don’t run into battle like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you?  That there isn’t some part of you, maybe, deep down, that thinks you _deserve_ to -”

Drift was still staring… but not at Ratchet’s face.  With a frown, he reached out and poked the medic in the chest.

His fingertips came away sticky with energon.

“What?” Ratchet demanded as Drift glared at him accusingly.  “That fragging battle was a metal grinder; do you know, I’ve been here for twelve hours patching you idiots up?  Sorry if I haven’t exactly had time to jump in the washracks.”

“This is fresh,” Drift snapped.  “As in _still bleeding,_ I can smell it.  This is _yours.”_

“It’s a scratch.  I’ll patch it when I’m done here.”

With what could only be described as a growl, Drift surged off the medical berth and lunged at Ratchet, pinning him to the wall with one hand.  With the other, he rummaged around on Ratchet’s tray until he came up with a tool, and waved it in the medic’s face.  “Patch it.  Now.”

“That’s a speculum.”  Ratchet’s voice was cool, but his startled optics never left Drift’s.

Drift’s glare only intensified, until Ratchet finally sighed and picked the welder off the tray.  Drift stepped back, arms crossed, watching him work.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Ratchet murmured after a moment.

“What?”

“Seeing someone you like refusing to give a crap about their own safety.”

Drift’s gaze dropped.  Voice thick, he pleaded, “Tell me you didn’t nearly let yourself bleed out to teach me a lesson.”

“Pfft.  I’ve got better things to do with my time than think up object lessons for you.  I thought I could power through it, I thought…”  Ratchet trailed off as he lowered the welder and reached for the disinfectant.  “Well.  I’m going to hand over to First Aid for the rest of the shift.”

“Good.  Go get some recharge.”

“You can recharge when you’re dead, kid.  I’ll be at Swerve’s.”  Ratchet stalked out of the medbay, then, a second later, poked his head back around the door.  “You coming, or what?”


End file.
